


Brittle Pieces

by venis_envy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Outtakes, emotional mending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/pseuds/venis_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Stiles wasn't there in either reality after the fire. He wasn't there for Derek, and he wasn't there to bid his own goodbyes to the family he was part of so briefly.</i><br/>He feels like he needs it— that bit of closure, that chance to see for himself that they're really gone. Something tangible for his mind to link his realities together.<br/>A little extra bit of Now as Ever. Not exactly an "outtake," though, it was meant to be in the story. I just never found room for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brittle Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Now as Ever (All That Is and Has Been)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/977054) by [venis_envy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/pseuds/venis_envy). 



> I'm not going to try and talk anyone into reading a 52k fic, especially this time of year when everyone is more busy than even they themselves may realize. But, if you'd like to see what brought these two together, how they came to be, please go check out [Now as Ever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/977054/chapters/1922190) before proceeding here. It's also available as a [podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/977025/chapters/1922117), read by the lovely [sapphirescribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/pseuds/sapphirescribe).

 

Stiles has spent a while considering it, turning it over in his head and wondering if here, now, in this life, it would be inappropriate for him to go.

He wants to, feels like he needs it, a sort of closure, maybe.

He's adjusting well—he and Derek both are—to this new life of theirs, together. The brief glimpse of the past they shared together has woven itself into both their beings. It's real—even if their past without each other is, too—like overlapping layers of vellum memory.

Stiles wasn't there in either reality after the fire. He wasn't there for Derek, and he wasn't there to bid his own goodbyes to the family he was part of so briefly.

He feels like he needs it—that bit of closure, that chance to see for himself that they're really gone. Something tangible for his mind to link his realities together.

Derek is still broken. He's got scars that will never heal, though no one can see them.

Stiles can. Stiles knows what Derek had, what he lost.

Stiles' own grief over the family's death pales in comparison, a wispy glint in the blinding light of Derek's sorrow, but he still feels it nonetheless.

He doesn't really know how to broach the topic with Derek, or even if he should. It's six days into dwelling on these thoughts when Derek eliminates the question for Stiles.

He knows—of course he does. Maybe he picks up on Stiles' mood, or maybe he sees Stiles staring too long at the flattened felt poppy in Derek's treasure box. Stiles isn't exactly discreet about it.

"We can go, if you want," Derek says, coming up behind Stiles one afternoon as he stares out the window into the rain. "To the cemetery. I'll take you there, if you'd like to go."

Stiles' fingers clenched tight on the edge of the windowsill.

It never fails to surprise him just how perceptive Derek is, but it's a good kind of surprise; the kind that spread a warmth throughout Stiles' body, causes his heart to beat a little bit faster, reconfirms their connection.

Stiles nods. "Yeah," he says. "That would be good."

~*~

Cherry Creek is Beacon Hills' oldest cemetery, established toward the end of the gold rush in 1854, before Beacon territory had even been declared.

Stiles' mom isn't buried here, almost no one is anymore, and it says a lot about Derek's heritage that his family is.

"Old land holds old magic," Derek tells him.

They're parked against the curb outside the cemetery gates. There's an eerie fog rolling in on the top of the hill on the other side, diffusing what little daylight is shining through, and casting every cross and tombstone in a hazy silhouette.

Stiles thinks he should probably be more creeped out by this than he is, but it feels safe, peaceful, as if even the constantly buzzing energy of the earth itself is at rest in this little spot of land.

"There are hundred-and-sixty-year-old laws set into place here that are considered irrelevant now, and don't pertain to the other cemeteries in Beacon Hills," Derek says before exiting the car. He waits on the sidewalk for Stiles, and then leads the way to the gate, pushing the rusty metal open as it creaks on its hinges.

"Were they buried with wolfsbane?" It may be an inappropriate thing to ask, especially now, but Derek never faults Stiles for his curiosity.

"No," he says, voice low as if he doesn't want to disturb the quiet of the place. "It wasn't necessary."

 _Because of the magic here_ , Stiles thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud.

Derek reaches back, grabs Stiles' hand and laces their fingers together as he guides him around an unmarked grave.

"Have you heard of bloodletting?" he asks as they near the tree line at the edge the graveyard.

It isn't something they learned much about in school, but Stiles has always had a sort of morbid fascination with such things. He knows what it is—how it works.

"It's an ancient, and _ineffective_ , medical practice," he replies. "They used to try to bleed sickness and infection out of people."

Derek nods. "It's got its place in the supernatural world, too. Lycanthropy was considered to be an infection. If someone was suspected of being a werewolf, they would bleed them dry before putting them in the ground."

Stiles' stomach turns. He doesn't want to consider the possibility that Derek and Laura had to do that to their family—that they had to cut their veins open and bleed them out before burying them to prevent them from shifting.

"It wasn't like that," Derek says, unsurprisingly knowing the path of Stiles' thoughts. "But it had the same effect."

His hand is warm against Stiles' palm, and Stiles thinks it's probably just as much for Derek's comfort as he speaks as it is for guidance.

"The fire—" Derek pauses and Stiles tightens his grip reassuringly. "It was—they were in the basement, surrounded by cement and stone. It was like an oven. All the blood in their veins evaporated in the heat of it."

Stiles wants to ask why Derek didn't bury Laura here with the rest of the family, but as he walks beside him through the cemetery, weaving around markers and carefully skirting graves, Stiles gets his answer. Their family's plot is small—not even big enough for the seven members buried there, and Stiles doesn't want to acknowledge the reason for that.

It's a beautiful spot of the cemetery, edged by trees and a small, wooden fence Stiles thinks has probably seen better days. It isn't a heavily maintained cemetery, Stiles notes, though it's obvious it isn't left untouched by human hands either. Wisps of wild grass cover the ground in sporadic patches, vines inch up, cling to tombstones, but appear to be trimmed away from nameplates and inscriptions, wildflowers grow wherever the soil seems to want them, their vibrant petals reaching up and out of the low lying fog that settled around Derek and Stiles.

There's only one stone slab that marks the final resting place of the Hales. It's nearly as tall as Stiles, and at least 3 feet wide on all sides. The family name is carved deep in the stone, below it, a simple epitaph: Set free are the souls who were caged in this life, to roam in the next, under endless moonlight.

It's peaceful here. Stiles notices that more than anything else. Most of the graves they had passed are so old he guesses there probably aren't any family members left to visit them. Maybe that's why Laura and Derek had chosen this place.

The sun is beginning to sink to the horizon behind the Hale monument, the leadened sky shrouding its rays so that all that's visible is a hazy orange and red ball.

Stiles wonders, if he listens hard enough from this place, will he hear the ocean sizzling away as it sinks down, evaporating from the heat of it just like–

"Look," Derek says, tugging on Stiles' hand.

Stiles shouldn't laugh at the site that greets him when his gaze follows Derek's down to the ground, but he can't help it. It's a strange sense of joy that culminates within and rises to form a single, breathless laugh of amazement.

With the fog thinning, Stiles can see that the flowers growing sporadically throughout the graveyard, the flowers that seem to be more prominent here on the Hales' piece of land, are California poppies.

He smiles over at Derek. "Did you—"

Derek shakes his head. "They've always been here. Even...before."

Stiles kneels down to get a closer look. There are dozens of them, mimicking the color of the sun in the sky, standing tall and proud in the sandy soil.

"You know," Stiles says, "they say flowers only grow on the graves of the good."

"I've heard that," Derek replies. He's quiet until Stiles stands again. Derek rest his forehead against Stiles' temple. "Thank you."

He walks away then, but he doesn't go far, just gives Stiles the space to be alone with his thoughts—to make his own peace with his memories.

Stiles kneels down again, pulls the felt poppy out of his shirt pocket and places it at the base of the monument. He traces the fuzzy edge of it with his fingertip before standing again and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Stiles smiles a little at the symbolism there: a fake poppy resting among the real ones. It's different, yes, but it doesn't look at all out of place, and he thinks maybe it's Grama Iris' own special way of communicating to Stiles that he, too, belongs. That he's part of this, even if he wasn't born into it.

Stiles will take that. He nods his gratitude at the small patch of land, and then turns to catch up with Derek. 


End file.
